


A Matter of Honor

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 03:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Paul at West Point story...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Honor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #13 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"I take it you had an idea, though."_

 

          "Me?" cadet Paul Ironhorse wheezed.  "I don't think that's such a great idea."

          "Oh, come on, Paul," his class and roommate, William "Bill" Bradley said, slapping the smaller man on the back.  "We've all talked it over and decided we trust you."

          Paul closed his eyes and sighed; that was the class commandant talking.  "I appreciate that, I really do, but—"

          Bill laughed.  "But nothing.  When Sandy steps down to avoid, uh, academic stress, he and I are going to recommend that you take his place on the Honor Committee.  End of discussion.  You're our man, Paul."

 _Funny_ , Paul thought.  Sandy wasn't a great scholar, but he was holding his own near the middle of the class.  The young plebe shook his head.  It was useless.  If Bill and Sandy had made up their minds to appoint him the next victim it was out of his hands.

          "Okay…"

          "I knew you'd see it our way," Bill said, slapping Paul's back again before heading off.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          0545.  Mid-November.  Dressed in T-shirt and droolies, Paul tiptoed past a trio of snoring upperclassmen.  Maneuvering through the dark room, he carefully monitored the recumbent forms sleeping blissfully under the academy's cherished "brown boy" quilts.

          An icy draft poured through an open window, wrapping around Paul's bare ankles.  Above the floor cold air battled with hot air beating out of the heater pipes.  Finding those pipes, Paul leaned cautiously over the hot fins and pulled the window sash shut.  Outside, the boom of a distant single cannon shot reverberated through North Area, warning him that it was ten minutes before reveille.

          "Patterson, that you?" a groggy voice asked from beneath one of the brown boys.

          "No, sir.  Ironhorse, sir."

          "Close that damned window, Ironhorse."

          It was Jim Tannersin, a decidedly nasty junior.  "Yes, sir.  It's closed, sir."

          It was a pain in the ass, but getting up early to wait on the upperclassmen gave the plebes an extra few minutes to get ready for reveille formation.  At least they didn't require the plebes to warm the toilet seats in the morning as they had in earlier generations.  Slipping silently out of the upperclassmen's room, Paul returned to his own to finish dressing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Climbing into his uniform, Paul scanned the room to be sure everything was in order, then hurried down the corridor with his roommates.  The rooms had burst into life, upperclassmen shaving, dressing, and swapping insults.

          Cold, still air slapped his cheeks as Paul pushed through the door to fall in with the other plebes – five minutes early, as required.  A trio of Hellcats struck up a brisk medley of drum and bugle calls.  With a silent sigh, Paul remembered that it was his turn to act as the minute caller.  He broke formation and marched to the barracks stoop.

          "Sir!  There are five minutes until reveille formation!  The uniform for today is as-for-class under raincoats!  Breakfast today is scrambled eggs with bacon and grapefruit sections!  Five minutes, sir!" he bellowed.

          He repeated the call at three minutes and one minute.  The weather was bad, and for that Paul was grateful.  With luck the Saturday parade would be canceled.  His duty done, he returned to his place in the formation.

          The final notes of reveille drifted away into the darkness.  No hint of dawn presented itself as Paul and his classmates stood like statues in the damp cold, prohibited from even wiggling their toes.  As the last upperclassmen strolled casually into the ranks, Paul wondered what the academy was going to be like in February.  It wasn't even Thanksgiving yet and already everything looked grey and frigid.  Grey walls, grey sky, grey cadets – a far cry from the colors of the Great Smokey Mountains.

          Paul blinked and squinted into the darkness.  Standing among the upperclassmen was a beautiful girl wearing a cadet uniform, her blonde hair tucked up beneath a cap.  She must have spent the night with someone and was now being smuggled out of the barracks.

          It was a blatant infraction of the Honor Code.

          The Code…

          Paul forced a shiver away lest he tremble and draw the unwanted attention of some upperclassman looking for a plebe to chew before breakfast.  If he was on the Honor Committee now he'd be forced to report the situation, wouldn't he?

 _A cadet does not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do_ , he recited silently. The rigid simplicity of the Honor Code usually forestalled any questions.  "Quibbling, cheating, evasive statements, or recourse to technicalities will not be tolerated," he and the other plebes were told.

          So, how should this be dealt with?

          If no one was asked to confess that it was they who had brought the girl in and slept with her, then no one had lied.

          And, while the man in question might have stolen the girl's heart, or her virginity, nothing exactly tangible could be said to have been stolen.

          Cheating… now _that_ was harder.  Was it cheating the regulations to sneak the girl in?  Clearly it was against the regulations, but was it technically cheating?

 _Not really_ , he decided.

          And it certainly wasn't quibbling, or a recourse to technicalities – if the girl was lucky.

          And again, unless the man responsible was asked directly, the incident did not involve any evasive statements.

          The conclusion?  There had been no infraction of the letter of the Honor Code.  There had been a definite infraction of academy policy and regulations, but that was not his problem or responsibility, as it did not endanger the welfare of the corp.

          A sense of self-satisfaction settled over Paul.  If he could work that out, maybe he could adequately represent the plebe class on the Honor Committee.

          He watched Jim Tannersin stroll by, pausing briefly to give the girl a quick kiss on the cheek.

          It figured.  Tannersin was a dyed-in-the-wool asshole.

          The company came to attention in preparation for the march to the mess hall.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Somewhere, somehow, the girl vanished before they reached Washington Hall. The cadets marched through the large double oak doors four abreast and into a welcome warmth.  The hall roared with activity as the entire corps sat down simultaneously for the thirty-minute meal.  Waiters swarmed around the tables like frantic worker ants, plebes recited, and upperclassmen heckled.

          In his peripheral vision Paul watched the table next to his.  An upperclassman took up a position, standing on his chair, cracking an imaginary whip while the other cadets rowed an imaginary galley.  A plebe squatted at the foot of the table, peered into the mist, calling out invisible dangers to be avoided.

 _Oh boy..._ he sighed silently.  _The seniors are in fine form this morning.  Must be the weather…_

          At the foot of the table, Paul sat on the forward three inches of his chair, ready to recite if called on.  Since the plebes were not permitted to leave the academy for the holidays, upperclassmen across the hall were demanding they sing Christmas songs – "I'll be Home for Christmas" was a particular favorite.  Paul had memorized the lyrics, along with stacks and stacks of other facts plebes were required to memorize by rote – everything from daily menus to the members of Congress to the names of the academy's mules.

          "Ironhorse!" the table commandant bellowed.  "Serenade us with a song, but not any damned Christmas mush, something _original_."

          Paul was ready for that, too.  While poring over a particularly difficult math problem, he'd invented some lyrics to the tune of "Surrey with the Fringe on Top" to celebrate his slide rule.  He stood confidently and belted out:

 

          _In math class for solving equations,_

_Or out of class for special occasions,_

_Use your log log duplex decitrig sliii-ding rule._

_Oh, the slipstick's slick for arithmetic,_

_The case is genuine leather._

_It's waxed and polished, it will never stick_

_In case there's a change in the weaaa-ther._

 

          "Not bad, Mr. Ironhorse."  The table commandant applauded.  "Okay, plebes, chow down!"

          Paul sat down.  Another meal survived.  Only six hundred more to go before the end of his plebe year…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The adjutant dismissed the corps from breakfast and Paul marched out of the mess hall with the other plebes.  Morning classes began in a few minutes and then, unless rain intervened, the corp would assemble again at noon for the Saturday parade.  Paul climbed the steps to his room and grabbed his calculus text, a large loose-leaf tome known as the "Green Death."  Then, with the quick-stepping, Charlie Chaplin walk required of the plebes, he hurried to Thayer Hall.  Once the academy's riding pavilion, the windowless building was now West Point's main academic building. Six days a week, seventy-five minutes a day, Paul reported there for calculus.

          The dozen cadets in his class sat in descending order of their grade-point averages.  Each man recited daily, grades were assigned daily and posted weekly.  The instructor, like three-quarters of the faculty, was an academy graduate.  The plebe curriculum required each cadet to take calculus, engineering, physical education, military tactics, geography, history, and English.  A plebe's sole option was in the selection of the language he wanted to study.

          Paul sat in the third chair of the class.  Every few weeks the instructors shuffled the class to reflect ascents and descents in the cadets' academic standing.  This was the 'first,' or most accomplished section of plebe calculus, and Paul currently had the third highest ranking.  He had been pleasantly surprised to discover that he was an excellent student.  As much as he wanted to deny it, he was starting to look forward to wearing the brocaded gold stars worn on the uniform collar by 'star men' – the top five percent of each class.  It was a goal he never expected to achieve.

          Forrest Everette, one of his roommates, occupied the first seat, and for some reason he'd taken a decided liking to Paul.  Forrest had a remarkable West Point lineage, which made the budding friendship all the more remarkable to the young Cherokee.  He, Forrest, and the other ten cadets stood as the instructor entered and issued the familiar command:  "Take boards."

          At the blackboard, Paul chalked his name and company in the upper right-hand corner.  Then he carefully divided the board into four quadrants and covered each section with drawings and equations.  Finished, he set the chalk in its tray and returned to his chair as the instructor asked Forrest to explain a problem.  The cadet did so with his usual aplomb.

          "Mr. Ironhorse," the instructor called.

          Glancing back at his board, Paul realized that he'd made a mistake in the second equation.  He quickly glanced at Forrest's board.  "Sir, I will use Mr. Everette's board," he said coolly, walking to the correct equation, pointer in hand.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul exited the lecture hall, Forrest's hand on his shoulder.  "Ironhorse, that was something else," the cadet said excitedly.  "I'd heard a cadet who erred could max a problem if he used a classmate's board to explain the solution, but I _never_ thought I'd see it.  Poetry, sheer poetry!  It was like you planned it."

          Paul shook his head, cheeks and ears going red.  "I can't believe I made the mistake in the first place."

          "Any egghead can solve an equation," Forrest said.  "But effortless savoir-faire, now _that's_ something special."

          Paul shook his head again.  "Where'd you learn to talk like that, Ev?"

          Forrest chuckled.  "Must have been Swiss finishing school, dear boy."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul slipped into his room.  As he had hoped, the weather forced the cancellation of the parade, and the drizzle finally seemed to have subdued the upperclassmen.  With luck he'd be able to read ahead in his classes.  He slipped his calculus book back into its place and reached for engineering.

          "Ironhorse!"

          Paul spun, coming to attention and bracing.

          Jim Tannersin stood in the doorway.  "Major Wilson wants to see you in his office A-S-A-P, Ironhorse."

          "Yes, sir!"

          "Move, you maggot plebe!"

          "Yes, sir!" Paul barked, bolting from the room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul paused outside Major Henry J. Wilson's door and rapped once.  "Come in," was the muted reply.

          Turning the knob, Paul stepped inside and drew the door shut behind him.  "Sir!  Cadet Ironhorse reporting as ordered, sir!"

          "At ease, Cadet," Wilson said, adding, "Have a seat."

          Ironhorse slid into the seat, sitting at attention on the edge.

          "I said, at _ease_ , Cadet," Wilson repeated, the ghost of a smile on his lips.  He waited until Paul slid back into the chair, looking decidedly uncomfortable.  "Mr. Ironhorse, as you might have heard, Mr. Patterson is stepping down from his position on the Honor Committee.  He and Mr. Bradley have suggested that you take his place."

          "Yes, sir.  Mr. Bradley spoke to me."

          "Can I take that as a yes, you're happy to take Mr. Patterson's place on the Committee?"

          Paul's cheeks shaded.  "Yes, sir, I'd be honored to take Mr. Patterson's place."

          "Glad to hear it," Wilson said, leaning back in his chair.  "So, Mr. Ironhorse, have you given any thought to your summer assignment?"

          Paul's eyes widened.  "No, sir.  I honestly cannot say that I have spent time thinking about my summer assignment."

          Wilson chuckled.  "No, I guess not.  Well, do you have any long term inclinations?"

          He sat up straighter.  "Yes, sir."

          "And what might they be, Mr. Ironhorse?"

          "Special Forces, sir."

          "I see," Wilson replied.  "Well, in that case I'd like to recommend that you consider the Airborne course after your tenure at Fort Buckner."

          "Yes, sir, I will consider that, sir."  Paul leaned forward slightly.  "Anything else, sir?"

          Wilson shook his head.  "Not right now.  You're dismissed, Cadet."

          Paul stood, coming to attention.  He saluted, saying, "Thank you, sir."  With a sharp about-face, he stepped to the door and exited.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Dropping into his desk chair, Paul reached for his engineering book, hoping he might still get Monday's homework done early.  Well into his third problem, he didn't bother looking up as his other roommates entered.

          "Hey, Bill, does this tableau look familiar?"

          "Mmm, very.  The man never stops studying.  I think it might be a form of rare disease…"

          Paul forced the grin off his face, listening to the squeak as Forrest Everette flopped down on his bunk.  "Did you hear that Mr. Ironhorse maxed out in calculus today?"

          "He did, did he?" Bradley asked.  "Well, well, well.  You'd better watch out, Ev, Paul'll have your calculus seat next week."

          "Only in his dreams!" Everette proclaimed.  "And I'm closing on the first chair in engineering, too."

          "I just want to pass calculus and engineering.  I know I'm going to flunk out when I hit electrical engineering," Sandy Patterson lamented, dropping down at the desk next to Paul's.  "You up to tutoring me a little?"

          Paul glanced up, grinning.  "Sure, but maybe you ought to get Mr. First Chair over there to help you instead."

          Sandy glanced over his shoulder at Forrest.  "Naw, Ev's brilliant, but he can't explain how to pull your pants down."

          Forrest tossed a shoe, bouncing it off Sandy's back as the others erupted into laughter.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          0545 the following morning Paul crept through the upperclassmen's room and pulled shut the window sash.  Even on Sunday neither the academy nor the cadets slept in.

          "Ironhorse?" a voice growled from under his brown boy.

          "Yes, sir."

          "That window closed?"

          "Yes, sir, Mr. Tannersin."

          Tannersin pulled the blanket down far enough to glower at Paul.  "Send Patterson in here."

          "Yes, sir."

          Paul tip-toed out of the room and headed back his own.  Sandy, Bill, and Forrest were just finishing getting dressed.

          "Tannersin wants to see you," Paul told Patterson.

          Sandy paled.  "Oh?"

          "Right now, from the sound of it."

          With a heavy sigh, the cadet hurried from the room.

          "What's that all about?" Bill asked.

          Paul shrugged, watching Forrest, who looked as pale as Sandy.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After Chapel the cadets returned to their room for several hours of study time. Paul had just settled down to finish off his engineering homework when Sandy entered, looking shaken.

          "What's up?" Paul asked.

          "Nothing," the young man replied.

          With a shrug, Paul turned back to his work, managing to get two problems finished before Sandy leaned over and whispered, "Can we go talk?"

          "Sure," Paul replied, equally quietly.

          The two cadets rose and walked outside.  Paul waited several moments for the man to explain, then prompted, "Sandy, what's up?"

          He puffed and shook his head.  "Man o' man, I don't know what to do."

          "About what?"

          Sandy paced off several yards, then back to Paul.  "Look, this has to stay just between you and me, okay?"

          Paul nodded.

          Sandy glanced around, making sure no one else was around to hear.  "Three weeks ago, that last calculus exam?"

          "Yeah?"

          "I knew I was going to blow it.  Fail.  Wash out."

          "You're a long way from that," Paul argued.

          Sandy shook his head.  "No, you're wrong.  I'm a lot closer than you think."

          "So, what's wrong?"

          With a sigh, he continued, "I panicked.  I went to Tannersin—"

          "He's no a math genius," Paul snorted.  "Why not Everette, or me?"

          "You don't get it, Paul," Sandy said, grabbing the Cherokee's arm and leading him farther away from the barracks.  "I went to Tannersin and I bought the answers."

          "You what?"

          "I bought the answers from him."

          "Sandy—"

          "I didn't use them, Paul.  I had them in my hand, and I couldn't open the damned envelope.  That's why they dropped me back to the lowest class.  I didn't fail, but I got a low C."

          "You didn't use the answers you bought?"

          "No, I swear it.  But now this is getting way too big."

          Paul reached out and grabbed his friend's shoulders.  "Sandy.  Tell me what's going on, the whole story."

          "I'm not the only one Tannersin's got over the barrel.  I told Ev about the exam.  He went to Tannersin, took back the exam in the same envelope, unopened."

          "And?"

          "And Tannersin put the copy in Ev's book.  He found it a couple days later and destroyed it, but there's some talk going around that the only reason's he's First Chair is because he's cheating."

          "So what's the problem?  The same rumor circulates for all the First Chairs.  No one really believes it."

          "Tannersin's threatening to turn us in."

          "What can he do?  It's obvious neither of you used that exam."

          "Yeah, I know, but Ev's afraid to take any chances.  You know about his grandfather and his father.  He has to graduate, Paul, and do it in the top five percent."

          Ironhorse looked skeptical.

          "Believe it," Sandy insisted, then changed tact.  "Did you see that girl yesterday?"

          Paul nodded.

          "That was Ev's sister."  When Paul shook his head in confusion, Sandy growled, "Tannersin told Ev if he didn't arrange that little tryst he'd make sure we were exposed.  Nancy went along because she knows what this means to Ev and his family."

          With a tired sigh, Paul stepped away.  "And?"

          "And now he wants me to help him steal the electrical engineering exam.  He said if I don't he'll be sure they find exams in our room.  You and Bill could get thrown out, too."

          "For what?"

          "Who knows?  Cheating, covering it up, I don't know.  Tannersin's an upperclassman, who knows what kinds of connections he's got."

          "Is this why you stepped down from the Honor Committee?"

          Sandy nodded.  "I knew he'd get caught eventually, or someone else would turn him in, and if he came up before the Committee I'd have to vote no-infraction or he'd turn me in, and I couldn't do that."

          "But now _I'm_ on the Honor Committee," Paul argued.  "If I don't report this, I'm in violation of the code myself."

          "But I didn't cheat, Paul.  I haven't technically broken the Code, and neither has Ev.  I need your help.  I don't want to help Tannersin, but I don't know what else to do."

          "Let me think about it."

          "Make it fast, okay?  He wants me to do it next weekend."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Sitting across the desk from Major Wilson, Paul silently prayed that he had done the right thing, telling the officer about the whole situation.  He watched as the man pondered the situation, a serious expression on his face.

          Finally, Wilson looked up from his desk blotter.  "Nasty little situation."

          "Yes, sir."

          "It's clear that Patterson and Everette haven't broken the letter of the Code, although they have broken the spirit of the code.  Patterson by asking for the exam, and Everette by covering up the fact that Patterson asked for the exam."

          "Sir, I'm guilty of that as well."

          Wilson nodded.  "Yes, I guess you are, but you did come to me."

          "Because I don't know how to help Mr. Patterson and Mr. Everette without breaking the Code myself."

          Wilson grinned.  "I see."

          "I said that poorly."

          "No, you said that honestly."  Wilson leaned back in his chair.  "I take it you had an idea, though."

          Paul's gaze dropped.  "Yes, sir."

          "Well, I'd like to hear it."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          0530.  Paul crept into the upperclassmens' room.  The heater was up higher than usual in response to the overnight snow, something the plebe had counted on.  In his hand he carried an envelope.

          "Patterson?" Tannersin growled.

          "No, sir.  Ironhorse, sir."

          Tannersin rolled out of bed, joining Paul next to the heater pipes.  "Explain.  Patterson's supposed to be here."

          "Yes, sir," Paul said, extending the envelope.  "He's feeling a little under the weather.  He asked me to deliver this to you."

          Tannersin looked at the envelope, his eyes narrowing.  "What's that?"

          "I have no idea, sir."

          Tannersin took the envelope, using the dim building light from outside to inspect if it had been opened.  It had not.  He turned back to Paul.  "And Patterson didn't tell you what this was, or why I'm getting it?"

          "No, sir," Paul replied.  "I didn't ask, sir."

          Tannersin smiled.  "Good man, Ironhorse.  You're dismissed."

          "Thank you, sir," Paul stated and left.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul and Sandy sat at their desks, working on their calculus problems.  Bill and Ev burst into the room, startling both men.

          "What's up?" Paul asked.

          "You're not going to believe this," Ev said, his enthusiasm barely in check.

          "Jim Tannersin _failed_ his electrical engineering exam!"

          "Everybody in the barracks is already talking about it," Bill said.  "It's knocked him out of any chance for being a star man, that's for sure."

          "Who would have thought," Ev said, looking decidedly happy.

          "Who indeed," Sandy said, grinning at Paul.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Ironhorse," Tannersin hissed.

          Paul turned, came to attention and braced.  Alone in his room, he had wondered how long it would take the upperclassman to confront him.  "Sir, yes, sir!"

          "Don't play dumb with me, you goddamned Indian punk."

          Paul remained silent.

          "Who gave me the wrong answers?" Tannersin demanded in a low growl.  "Patterson?  Everette?  You?"

          Tannersin plowed a fist into Paul's midsection.  Refusing to speak, Paul sucked in a deep breath and straightened.

          "I'll destroy all of you," Tannersin threatened.  "Every damned one of you.  Patterson was too stupid to use the answers I gave him, but if you think you can get away with blackmailing me—"  He drew back his fist to level another blow, but a hand closed over his fist.

          "That'll be more than enough, Mr. Tannersin," Major Wilson said.

          The upperclassman's face paled, his chin trembling slightly.  "Major…  I—"

          "Don't say anything," Wilson recommended.  "I heard every word, and if you don't want me to level charges against you for assaulting Mr. Ironhorse, I suggest you go pack your belongings.  I want you off this post by 5 p.m."

          "But, sir—"

          "Move, Cadet!"

          Tannersin bolted from the room and Ironhorse allowed himself to unbrace.  Wilson stepped up to him, asking, "Are you all right?"

          "Yes, sir."

          Wilson nodded and grinned.  "You certainly are, Mr. Ironhorse."

          "Sir?"

          "Never mind," Wilson said, turning and heading for the door.  "Good work, Cadet."


End file.
